


Remembrance

by Kitsu



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Dubious Consent, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-06
Updated: 2019-11-06
Packaged: 2021-01-24 12:01:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21337909
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kitsu/pseuds/Kitsu
Summary: Is Sephiroth alive? Is it a dream? No matter, when he smells oh-so-good.
Relationships: Sephiroth/Cloud Strife
Comments: 7
Kudos: 161





	Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

> Oy vey. I haven't written anything since 2017 - life, you know. And then this is happened. Yeah, I watched the trailers for Remake, and well, porn needed to be made. Set after Advent Children, I suppose. The plot is a meagre excuse to write porn, I fully admit it. Also, it is extremely rambly and stream-of-consciousness-y. But enjoy it for what it is!

From the very first time they had met, it had been a constant vexing issue - every single time Sephiroth came anywhere near him, Cloud could feel himself drifting, slipping away, becoming confused. The scent… It hung in the air around that silvery-haired son of a bitch, sharp, deep, intricate and intoxicating. Leather, metal and oil. Blood. Vanilla and rose, something sweet that clung to his hair. Completely at odds with his icy, intense personality. 

Cloud could dislike Sephiroth’s abrasive personality and charring words as well as he pleased, but whenever they were less than 10 feet apart, he could feel himself inhale deeply, breathe it in, his eyes wanting to close so badly. Like an enchantment, a magical effect, it distracted him, left him exasperated, short of breath, tingles running up the outside of his arms, leaving him numb, weak.

He’d looked around at his friends a few times they’d met Sephiroth in battle, and it didn't seem to affect anyone other than himself, everyone else always looked perfectly composed, ready for battle, sharp and on edge. Well, as composed as you could look when faced with a maniacal, homicidal killer with alien superpowers. So just Cloud then...

Everything about Sephiroth rubbed Cloud the wrong way. His actions, his words, his fucking beautiful face - and that scent. That annoyingly, infuriatingly, arousing scent. Distracting him, invading his senses, flashing images that he really didn’t want to contemplate across his retinas. Images that lingered, invaded his dreams, made him wake up sweaty and aroused in the middle of the night - for years. Images of his fingers tangled in silvery hair, tugging and caressing. Images of the very same silvery hair slipping against his skin as its possessor moved against Cloud, skin against skin, sweaty and warm. Images of icy eyes staring into his as he came with a growl. Images that kept him from making any lasting connections beyond basic friendship with anyone else.

_Fuck. _

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. _

It was going to be the death of him, he was sure. It made him hesitant, made him weak. Made him unable to rid the world of its largest threat effectively. 

—-

So when years later he finds himself inadvertently trapped in his own room by the supposedly dead former general, with no easy out, his internal monologue swears up a storm. Unarmed, he won’t be able to fend the other one off if he decides that today is as good a time as any to end Cloud Strife, once and for all.

Backed up against a wall, Cloud watches Sephiroth close the distance between them with catlike grace. His sword isn’t anywhere to be seen, but that really doesn’t mean a thing, it tends to show up out of nowhere anyways. In addition, their size difference puts Cloud at a bad disadvantage if it came to unarmed combat. He hasn’t a chance without his sword.

The cold light of night reflects of Sephiroth’s pale skin as he moves closer, his eyes bright as always. With what, Cloud isn’t sure - insanity, anger, glee, humour. Cloud could never tell. Inscrutable, isn’t that the word?

Why he had suddenly showed up, Cloud had no idea. He isn’t even sure Sephiroth is truly there, or if he is a figment, a ghost, a memory. Not until Sephiroth is close enough for that scent to invade his senses again. Yeah, definitely there - and way too close. So close. So very, very close. Invading Cloud’s personal space, towering. 

Completely backed up against the wall, Cloud can only watch as Sephiroth wordlessly, soundlessly lifts a hand, sliding it up along the skin of Clouds bared arm, along his shoulder, until his gloved fingers curls softly around Clouds throat, no pressure, just a threat implied.

“Good to see you. Cloud.” The words are barely a whisper, floating in the air. 

“Why?” is all Cloud can muster, the warmth radiating against him and Sephiroth’s scent numbing him. _ Sweet death. Sweet, enticing, metallic death. _

The corners of Sephiroth’s mouth curls up in a feline smirk,“Why not?”

Not knowing Sephiroth to be one to do anything without cause and reason, however twisted and wrong they were, Cloud’s brow furrows. “What are you? A ghost? A dream? _ A nightmare _?”

“I am the sum of my parts - and here right now, Cloud Strife.” Sephiroth’s fingers tightens almost imperceptibly. A twitch. 

Not really an answer, but Cloud realizes it is the only one he’ll get. “But why are you here? Our fight is over, everything is over… Isn’t it? You disappeared...”

“As long as there were remnants, I would always be back. Back to haunt you and this hateful planet.” Pausing, Sephiroth runs his other hand up Cloud’s hip. “I saw you look at me. Every time. Even with sword in hand, your eyes… They carried no hatred. No malice. Anger, yes, and rightly so. The will to fight for what you cherished, also yes. But never hatred. You always saw _ me _… This isn’t a fight. This is a wish and an apology.” Sephiroth’s thumb on Cloud’s throat moves to push his chin up, forcing Cloud to look up, into Sephiroth’s burning, bright eyes. “You aren’t hateful. So many things are. Let me… Let me…”

So even the profoundly eloquent Sephiroth knew how to mangle a thought. To stumble and falter, fall over his own words. He’d sounded almost _ desperate _ . ** That **was a new one.

“Let me shut everything out for a final time,” Sephiroth whispers. “Let me look into eyes that doesn’t hate, let the chaos in my mind be silenced. Let me dream.” As he speaks, Sephiroth leans in, pushing against, breathing warmly against Cloud’s skin.

_ Fuuuck. _ That was ** it.** This had to be a dream, no matter how real it seemed, and how hard his body is reacting, betraying him. _ Fucking fuck. _ His mind is reeling, screaming, shutting down, a chaotic trainwreck involving the train to “No fucking way!” and the “Haven’t you dreamed of this forever?” express. His every sense is invaded by Sephiroth - a familiar being. A thorn in his side. An instant trigger to his fight, flight or freeze response. And apparently every alarm in his mind going off at once resulted in a total freeze. He couldn’t move, a deer in the headlights, a moth to flames. Absolute danger in his personal space, and all he can do is stare into those _ godsforsaken _ beautiful, dangerous eyes. He is a mouse about to be eaten by the cat, and parts of his primal being screams that he would most likely enjoy it. 

Having just watched Cloud as every crazy emotion must have looked like they battled on his face, Sephiroth’s lips curl up in a new smirk, the tip of his tongue darting across his lower lip. “Can you handle it, little puppet? Can you be my salvation, if only for this moment?”

Cloud feels his eyes close, as he draws a shuddering breath. Isn’t this what his dreams had been filled with for years? Those bright eyes, that cruel mouth, that liquid silver. This had to be just another dream. A dream couldn’t hurt him, he decides. Hadn’t someone once told him to always embrace his dreams? Even though it was probably not meant this _ literally. _

Barely able to function any longer, Cloud weakly lifts a hand, wrapping fingers in the silver hair. It feels oddy real, tangible. His hand curls along Sephiroth’s jaw, thumbing the hard line. The skin beneath is warm, at odds with the personality beneath. The cold, hard killer general. The foil of Cloud’s adult life. The potential planet killer. The source of Cloud’s every torturous wet dream for years past. In dreams the impossible become possible, and danger was almost welcome - thrilling.

And well, on the odd chance it wasn’t a dream - it meant he had been _ remembered _. He had been somebody to Sephiroth.

_ Fuck. Oh, fuck. _ There had been a time Sephiroth had ordered him to kneel and beg forgiveness, now instead, Sephiroth is slowly dropping to his knees in front of him, eyes almost _ needy. _Just almost, though - it was Sephiroth after all.

“I… can,” Cloud stutters, shocked by the loud growl that followed, vibrating against his hip. Sephiroth’s hands starts moving, pushing, pulling, undressing, unravelling.

Cloud shortly after finds himself in a state of undress, exposed before his old enemy - and he doesn’t care. He only cares about the strong, gloved hands that slides across his skin, the fingers that dig into his hips, the warm breath wafting against his belly. Alive. Sephiroth seemed so alive, so real.

The hand that wraps around his cock is warmer than Cloud expects, even through the leather glove. His breath catches in his throat and his head tilts back, knocking against the wall. _ Fuck. Again. _ So right and so definitely not right. This man, this monster has killed so many, killed family and friends of Cloud’s, this man has given Cloud most of his scars personally. _ But… _

_ But… _

_ Fuck. _

He stops trying to think the moment Sephirot’s mouth closes around the head of his cock, warm, wet pressure moving along the length of it, pulling Cloud’s breath from him in broken, ragged sighs. His internal monologue again turns into a stream of quick prayers and profanity. He can only experience, only feel. All the things he had so often dreamt of in fragmented, shattered dreams now plays out perfectly, only so much more vivid, so tangibly. His fingers in Sephiroth’s hair, Sephiroth’s mouth on his cock, piercing eyes peering up through strands of hair, that usually cold, hateful stare the same as always, but still different. Focused. Not dreaming of sailing through the cosmos on a dead planet. Present. Concentrated. _ Enjoying. _

Cloud shivers at the image presented before him, pulling so hard at Sephiroth’s hair that a few strands fray and break off. Sephiroth barely winces, but his teeth runs across Cloud’s sensitive skin warningly. Cloud releases his hair, clawing at the wall instead, definitely leaving scratches in the paint. Cloud closes his eyes again, shuddering at every deft motion administered by Sephiroth, the tight coil in the pit of his stomach winding harder and harder until he can’t bear it, spilling into Sephiroth’s mouth with a low groan. Fearful, he keeps his eyes closed, but feels Sephiroth’s still clothed, battle hardened, lean body move up along his, until he can feel Sephiroth’s breath against his temple, his strong hands resting on Cloud’s hips. 

“Turn.” The order drifts past his ears, words raspy, harsh, but seductive. Cloud doesn’t even pause to think, obeying in an instant. He rests his forehead against the wall, eyes still closed. His palms braced against the wall, he pushes back a little, eradicating any distance between himself and Sephiroth’s hard form. Sephiroth or no Sephiroth, Cloud is too far gone to care, too engrossed in feeling, experiencing. Dreaming. 

The hands on his hips leave him for a moment, to perform unknown asks behind him. Breathing, he waits, expects, wonders. The gasp when still leather-clad, but somehow slick fingers push against him, into him, is impossible to hold back. There could have, should have, been pain, roughness, violence, but no, none. Just a push and pressure, slickness, and Sephiroth’s other hand in front of him, splayed against his belly, pulling him back in time with the fingers pushing into him, preparing him. 

The fingers finally leaves him, and Cloud lets out a low mewl. Whatever is to come, he needs it, craves it. Sephiroth pushing slowly into him is everything he wishes for at that moment, and Cloud stops breathing for long enough for the edges of his field of vision to start blurring, bright stars appearing at the edges of his consciousness. Stars above, it felt good, better than any of his previous dreams had prepared him for. Wanting...more, Cloud tilts his head back, until it rests against Sephiroth’s leather-clad shoulder, exposing his neck in invitation. When teeth touches skin, harsh, edged, Cloud moans. So real, so warm, so wrong, but so good. Pressed against the wall, there isn’t much Cloud can do but squirm and wriggle against Sephiroth, but it seems to be enough to egg Sephiroth on. Thrusts become faster, harder, sharper. Hands grip tighter, fingers dig into skin and muscle. Breathing synchronizes, shallow, sharp, desperate. Louder and louder. Harsher. 

Ragged breathing halts for a moment when Sephiroth’s hand yet again wraps around Cloud’s cock, the leather still slicked by some substance. Slipping, sliding, it pulls Cloud towards the heavens for a second time, in time with Sephiroth’s deep thrusts and warm, wet breaths against his skin. Toes curling, fingers straining, head whipped back sharply, Cloud’s entire body arches against Sephiroth, as he comes for a second time, into Sephiroth’s hand. Behind him he can feel Sephiroth tense up as teeth against his neck comes close to draw blood when Sephiroth bites down in a silent, drawn out scream.

A moment passes before Cloud can feel Sephirot step back. Withdraw. Turning sluggishly and sliding down the wall until he is sitting on the floor, exhausted. Cloud stares up at the former General, who almost looks like his immaculate self - but not fully - after straightening his clothes. His edges somehow seem almost blurry. Cloud rubs his eyes, trying to focus, yet Sephiroth remains blurred out, ethereal. 

Walking a few steps away, Sephiroth half turns, looking back at Cloud. 

“I once told you I didn’t want to become a memory. But it seems I am fading, my remnants are disappearing one by one. I am… being forgotten. Washed away by the lifestream. Purified and purged from this world. Dream of me, Cloud Strife, so I do not disappear completely. The lifestream preserves, but not me. I am gone.” The dreamwalker, memory, ghost, whatever it is, looks at Cloud, pensively. “Had things been different… I would have lo… I would have liked to know you better, Cloud Strife. I am… sorry.”

A sudden flash of black feathers spirits Sephiroth from Cloud’s dream abruptly, leaving Cloud alone to crawl over to his bed and collapse onto it, quickly falling into a deep, but restless sleep.

—

The next morning Cloud wakes slowly, noticing a few aches and pains that doesn’t belong. Not if it had all been a dream… But the rational voice in his head is still arguing that anything else was completely impossible. He rises slowly, rubbing a few achy spots tentatively. Walking across the room, his fingers brushes across the wood panelling where his dream encounter had taken place. Touching a rough spot, his feet comes to an abrupt halt. Looking down, he sees them - faint scratch marks. Left by nails. Where they shouldn't be, as dreams doesn’t leave marks. Completely frozen, he stares at them for a full moment, his brain trying to rearrange and puzzle together an impossible jigsaw. Jerking his fingers away from the undeniable evidence, he places his palm across his heart. 

The memory had asked him to be his salvation, and Cloud knew quite a lot about wanting to be forgiven.

“Sephiroth. I will remember - even when the planet doesn’t.”


End file.
